


Valentine & Vimes: OSHA in Ankh-Morpork would be Like a Fire Extinguisher in Hell

by Aleaiactaest, Slyjinks



Series: Valentine & Vimes [12]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Fallout 4
Genre: Bondage, Crossover, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleaiactaest/pseuds/Aleaiactaest, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slyjinks/pseuds/Slyjinks
Summary: An anthology of disconnected, nonsequential porn bits that go along with the Valentine & Vimes series.Desk Jockey:Takes place during the last chapter of Going Nuclear. Nick and Sam take advantage of having a home that is also an office.Sleeping Habits:Takes place during the last chapter of Going Nuclear. Nick muses on Sam's sleeping habits, until Sam wakes up and he can do something else with him.Spanking:Takes place after Welcome Home. Sam Vimes finds he’s having a little trouble communicating what he wants. At first Nick misunderstands, but both get their satisfaction... in the end.Dressing Down:Sam and Nick get up to a little bedroom roleplay. They’re kind of bad at it, but that doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy it.Could I Watch?Takes place during Un/Affected.
Relationships: Nick Valentine/Samuel Vimes
Series: Valentine & Vimes [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689076
Kudos: 6





	1. Desk Jockey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would take place during Going Nuclear (Chapter 24ish), after Sam and Nick had moved in together in Diamond City. We didn’t want to break Going Nuclear’s momentum with more porn. In which Nick welcomes Sam to his new home by the two of them exploring all the non-work-related things his desk is good for, with some assistance from one of Nick’s spare ties.

The school at Diamond City had night classes, which Sam loved. Troll children would have benefited so much from the cool night air! Vampire children wouldn’t be ruining their sleep schedules! And, of course, it was good for families where the parents worked at night.

But while Shaun was at school, Vimes and Valentine weren’t working. Ellie had already headed off for the night. So maybe Nick _had_ been looking through his case files, trying to see if he had any half-decent leads that might bring home a paycheque, but he wasn’t seriously looking at the papers on his desk now. He was gazing softly at Sam, who was sitting on his desk, half-turned to look at the pile of papers that Nick was shuffling through.

Sam noticed that Nick’s attention had drifted and looked back at Nick, sitting there in his chair. He prompted, “Yes?”

Nick rubbed his chin, and he pointed out, “It’s just that you’re sitting there on my desk, and that puts you at just the right height.”

“The right height for what?” Sam asked, frowning slightly.

Nick sighed and stood up. “For Christ’s sake…” he took a step forward, put his hands on Sam’s hips, leaned in, and kissed him. “This.”

“Oh!” said Sam, with sudden realization. He grabbed Nick’s shoulders and kissed him again. Nick’s groin pressed up against his.

Nick nibbled down Sam’s jawline and growled in his ear, “Y’know, I haven’t given you a real welcoming home, here, sweetheart.”

“I’d say that we’ve both been very busy, but… yes, you’ve been rather remiss,” said Sam, smiling impishly. He let his hands wander to Nick’s tie, which was such a convenient handle to tug his lover closer.

Nick raised a hand to cover Sam’s own and started to tug off his tie. “Oh, I’m the remiss one? Hands behind your back. I’m tying you up.”

Nick pushed Sam’s hands down and behind his back and bound them with his tie, as Sam asked, “And what else are you doing?”

Sam twisted his wrists back and forth. He could get out if he wanted. Satisfied with that, he left the tie be.

“I would say I’m gonna screw you on every piece of furniture I have, but honestly, a lot of it’s just cinder blocks, and some of this stuff’s kind of old and fragile, so why don’t we just see how far we get with my desk and chair?” said Nick.

By way of answer, Sam leaned forward and kissed him some more. Nick unbuttoned his shirt and unbelted his trousers, then put his hands back on Sam’s hips, grinding up against him. His hands went to the waistband of Sam’s trousers and slunk under, pulling up his shirt and rubbing his flanks and then along his belly. Then he stroked a metal finger down Sam’s spine to the small of his back, and Sam shivered against his lover. Nick then unbuttoned and deftly unzipped Sam’s fly.

Sam hadn’t been familiar with zippers. There’d been a few accidents before he figured them out. The jagged interlocking teeth were nippy, like little hatchling dragons. Awash with soft sentimentality, Sam found himself missing those little rascals and the holes they’d leave in his socks.

Then Nick put his hand down into Sam’s smalls and started to fondle his callibisters with his synthflesh hand. Sam squirmed, wanting his hands free to grab Nick’s hips, even as Nick made himself quite free with Sam’s body. They shared another kiss, then Nick pulled Sam’s shirt up and sunk his head down to kiss and lick Sam’s chest, rubbing his cheek against the old, healed cracked ribs. He sucked on one tit and then the other, and then he went further down, pulling off Sam’s trousers and setting them down neatly. 

Nick returned his attention to Sam’s accoutrements, and Sam whined, pushing back against him. As Nick kissed his shoulder, Sam kissed his neck carefully, skirting the edges of the damage. Nick’s metal hand found its way to the inside of Sam’s thigh, and he left cold trails down Sam’s skin.

When Nick finally pulled out the damn bottle of lube and a plastic glove, Sam growled, “You’re overdue.”

“Oh, right, because you were complaining so much about the foreplay,” said Nick, rolling his eyes.

He started to finger Sam, who knew he was tight on Nick’s fingers. Sam did need the foreplay, truthfully, but he didn’t have to like that he needed it. He was a tense person. He needed some solid skin on skin time to reassure himself of his partner’s intentions; he remained forever faintly incredulous that he could be desired by anyone of any sense, let alone by someone so singular as Nick Valentine.

Sam couldn’t deny being desired when those fingers were replaced with Nick’s stiff prick. It was difficult to argue with a hard cock rubbing against his prostate and filling him up, and the hands gripping his hips and the kisses along the side of his cheek also presented their own convincing arguments.

“You take me so nicely, doll,” Nick murmured at Sam’s ear.

It was difficult to be any more flushed that Sam already was, but he managed it. 

“Shame I need to pull out,” said Nick, inappropriately chipper, as he did just that.

Sam blinked and then he glared. “Uhm, excuse me? I’m going to need that back in me.”

“In a moment,” said Nick, as he grabbed Sam about the shoulders and flipped him so that he was bent over the desk. He pulled Sam’s hands over his head and then adjusted the tie binding his wrists to loop it through the desk drawer handle.

Sam pushed back against Nick, thinking about how he could put a very well-placed kick into Nick’s ankle, if the circumstances were different. Then Nick’s hands were on his buttocks, squeezing and pulling then apart, and his cockhead was up at the rim of Sam’s arse, rubbing teasingly up and down.

“Nick, get on with it!” Sam encouraged, frustrated.

Nick obliged, giving Sam the whole length of it, which made his eyes widen. His hips rolled slightly to better accommodate his lover, and Nick gave him another squeeze before taking him in long, fast strokes that Sam eagerly pushed back against to meet.

Could people on the street hear him moaning, through the corrugated tin walls? What did they think, that the town private eye had brought home a lover and a child? Did it matter?

No, it didn’t matter, as Sam melted for Nick, that odd but pleasant tingling sensation spreading over him. It still caught him as strange, that he didn’t need to get off to get off, but it worked. It worked marvellously well. Sam was sure that Nick felt Sam twitching on his tadger; must have known that he’d given his beloved a pop.

Because Nick seemed to be in an ever so slightly sadistic frame of mind tonight, his response was to pull out and leave Sam hot and open and shivering. He freed Sam’s wrists from the desk drawer handle, but he didn’t untied them. Instead, he sat down on his chair and tugged Sam onto his lap. He pulled Sam’s arms over his head and twisted around to tie Sam’s wrists down to the back of the chair. Then he pushed up against Sam and directed, “Hop on.”

Sam adjusted the way he was straddling Nick, and Nick reached between his thighs, guiding his shaft back into Sam, who sucked in air heavily, trying hard to keep his eyes shut. Once he had Nick snugged back inside, Sam kissed Nick’s forehead, and he rocked up and down on that stiff quimstake.

“Making me work for it, hrm?” said Sam, who’d been quite content to simply be bent over Nick’s desk. Riding Nick on his chair was involving hithero unknown muscle groups, which would likely be very cross with him come the morrow.

“Someone ought to be working,” drawled Nick.

He was spent again before Nick let go his spendings. Sam sank down on Nick’s lap, panting heavily. There was a certain pitch to the humming of Nick’s wires that Sam had come to recognize: the sound of the afterglow. Sam kissed Nick slowly, lazily, all the urgency gone.

Then he wiggled his wrists. “Let me go?”

Nick laughed, and he did, and then they fell into each others’ arms together in his - _their_ bed.


	2. Sleeping Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would take place during Going Nuclear (Chapter 24ish), after Sam and Nick had moved in together in Diamond City. In which Nick muses on Sam’s sleeping habits.

Nick sat down at the edge of their bed in the Valentine Detective Agency, wondering if he needed to scavenge up a set of pyjamas like the ones he’d at one point seen Deacon running around the Railroad Headquarters in. Did he really lay in his bed, playing holo-tapes about Eddie Winter at all hours of the night and keeping up poor Ellie while fully dressed for that day?

He wasn’t going to be doing that anymore now, for multiple reasons. For one thing, Eddie Winter was dead with Valentine’s bullets to thank for it. That case had been put to rest. For another thing, he and Sam had given Ellie a stipend to get her own place. It was the right thing to do, and the last thing Nick wanted to happen was to have his pretty young assistant walk in on him and his charitably middle-aged beau while they were in the middle of something.

Nick looked over at Sam, who was laid out on the bed, naked as the day he’d been born, face down in a pile of pillows. That was, apparently, just how Sam slept, and the man had made a point of scavenging every spare pillow he’d found in the ruins they romped through. Nick thought that maybe Sam wanted to make a fort. Hesitating as he untied his tie and folded it neatly, he said, “So… that’s just how you sleep?”

“Yes?” said Sam. “If it’s safe enough. I told you.”

“Yeah…” said Nick, who did remember that and also remembered Sam sleeping naked in the little inn in Far Harbor. “It’s just… okay, you’re naked, butt up, and you doing seductive is about impossible to tell from you doing not-seductive, since you don’t do seductive, so how’s a guy supposed to figure out when you mean something by it and when you’re just trying to nod off?”

Sam laughed, rather manic. “Oh Nick… well, actually, I’ll tell you if I’m feeling frisky.” He paused. “Actually, fancy a wank?”

Nick thought about it. Then he shrugged and unbuckled his belt, putting it off to the side with his tie. “Sure.”

Sam rose and scooted over beside Nick, kissing along his jawline and then down his neck as Nick unbuttoned his shirt. Nick had double checked his insulation in his neck and made sure that he didn’t have any live wires or shorts, which was a good thing, because Sam liked to, erm, eat out Nick’s neck. Nick was sure that the Institute had never meant for Nick to have a human tongue all up in his cervical mechanisms, but _damn_ , it felt good.

His hands hurried down his buttons, and Sam slipped a hand into his shirt, tickling along Nick’s seams. Nick collapsed against Sam, stifling a giggle. The tickling turned to stroking, and the giggling became a soft, “Oh God,” as Sam’s tongue worked itself in between a pair of cable bundles.

Nick finished taking off his shirt and put his hands on Sam’s hips and moved him onto his lap. He kissed the top of Sam’s head, and Sam stroked his hands down Nick’s chest to his fly, which he unbuttoned and unzipped, thrusting a hand down into Nick’s briefs to play with Nick’s growing erection.

Once they were both hard, Sam made sure that he had Nick’s cock sufficiently out of his briefs that he could press their two cocks together and rub up and down them, slowly at first and then quicker and more firmly. Nick closed his synthflesh hand over Sam’s, his right hand around Sam’s back, as Sam tilted his head up for a kiss.

Them wanking each other off was becoming a nice, cozy standby that didn’t cut into their precious supply of condoms and lube, and it felt plenty intimate, him against Sam, their not-otherwise-occupied arms around each other, face to face.

Even the cleanup was just a towel to wipe up Sam’s cum, and towels could be washed.

They spent a time in each other’s arms, Sam panting, and Nick waiting for his fans to calm down. Then Sam did go to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A: It's a weird canon thing that Sam Vimes likes to sleep buck-naked. It's mentioned in at least two books.


	3. Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Vimes finds himself a little tongue-tied when trying to communicate what he wants, since part of him isn’t sure he’s supposed to want it. At first, Nick gets things reversed, but what really matters is they both get their satisfaction in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We’ve created a Discord server for chatting about Discworld, Fallout, or this fic. Feel free to join us at<https://discord.gg/6QM4Egy>**

_Spanking_

Vimes cuddled against Nick in their bed. It had been a long day of mind-melting meetings where he had to fight over and over again as to why the Watch required a budget, and then Captain Carrot had come found him and told him that they’d caught the lead suspect in the well poisoning case - who turned out to be a local property speculator who had stood to profit tidily if the tenants deserted the housing complexes and the landlords were forced to sell.

Vimes had wanted to point at Carrot and snarl, _This! This is why the city needs to pay for a Watch!_

Then he’d come home to his two boys, and it turned out that Shaun had built an alarm that went off whenever someone felt alarmed. Vimes was unable to be in the same room as the device, which made a hideous shrieking tocsin.

Sybil put out a vegetable loaf for dinner. The thing about a meatloaf was that, as his mother had made it, it might have been mostly vegetables like carrots and bread for binding, but it had at least been in the vicinity of some meat some point, even if it did not, strictly speaking, contain any meat. Sybil’s vegetable loaf, on the other hand, boldly asserted that it contained no meat. It was proud of this fact. It was shameless.

But here and now, the day was dying, and good riddance. Vimes ached to shut off his brain like the night had shut off the sun. He rummaged through Nick’s nightstand and found the naughty book that contained, uhm, instructions on different positions for congress. Vimes licked his fingers as he paged through the well-used book. There were still a few things that they hadn’t tried, some due to mutual lack of interest, but more due to lack of time. Vimes paused on a page. This one, they hadn’t tried because Vimes hadn’t been able to work up the courage to convey to Nick that he wanted it.

It wasn’t even particularly scandalous. Women went to groups to learn it and practice technique. The Morporkian Vice, they called it, although why that one was singled out when Ankh-Morpork had so very many was beyond Vimes.

Nick looked at the picture and asked, “Oh, you want to spank me, sweetheart?”

Vimes blinked. That was the opposite of what he was thinking. But the thought of Nick bent over his lap and the flat of his hand striking and then stroking Nick’s rump did hold a certain appeal. “...er, right.”

“I’m down,” Nick offered, snuggling against him.

Vimes sat up on their bed and patted his lap. Nick eagerly bent himself over Vimes’s lap. He made a triangle of his arms on the bed and laid his head down on them. Vimes cupped Nick’s behind, looking down thoughtfully. Nick’s arse was quite flat, not soft and round. He could see Nick’s back seams very well, like the distorted pentagon on his lower back and the lines that ran down the back of his thighs. Vimes stroked directly along the seam at the small of Nick’s back, and Nick shifted slightly on his lap. Then Vimes gave Nick an experimental whack and was rewarded with a soft _Ah_ noise from his beloved.

Nick’s synthetic flesh had a texture to it much like human skin, and from Nick’s damages, Vimes could see that Nick had layers to him. Hitting him felt about like striking a human man. The sound had that crisp _snap_ to it he would expect, although Vimes suspected that if he struck Nick right over one of his internal metal supports, that his hand would be ringing. He slipped his hand down to one of Nick’s high thigh seams, the ones that encircled his upper thighs, and rubbed there, absently. He gave Nick another smack on the buttock and then rubbed where he’d hit Nick.

“So have I been bad?” Nick inquired, in a tone that evoked a shit-eating grin.

“No,” said Vimes, who often had trouble taking it seriously when they role-played. _If an angel came to Ankh-Morpork looking for good men, though gods only know why it’d try, it’d find at least one._ “You’ve been very good.” Another swat.

“Ooh,” sighed Nick contentedly.

“Very, very good.” _Slap._

“Mhm.”

“This is a reward.” He caressed Nick and then struck again.

“You’re too, ah, good to me, y’know,” Nick purred, his fans hitting a pleasant pitch.

“I don’t think I am,” Vimes murmured. He kept up alternating spanks with fondling, switching sides when the whimsy took him. There was an agreeable mindlessness to it. Nick arched up slowly, and Vimes moved his hand down and around, navigating the full splendid extent of Nick’s buttocks. He spanked harder, enjoying the sound of Nick’s light moans. A few times, he bent down and kissed Nick where he’d struck him, letting his lips form a wet suction against Nick’s synthetic skin. As Nick moved himself into better position, Vimes had an increasingly delightful view of Nick’s arse, and a certain thought occurred. 

Vimes asked hopefully, “Reach me a glove and the lube?”

“I’m getting the deluxe treatment, huh?” said Nick, reaching out to retrieve the requested items, which he obediently handed back to Vimes. 

“If you’re going to go and look all enticing like that, putting your arse up in the air for me, yes.” Now Vimes worked on fingering Nick’s arsehole with the lubed, gloved fingers of his off hand while he spanked him, sometimes cupping, sometimes spreading his fingers apart, sometimes bringing them back together. Nick’s light moans became louder, interspersed with whimpers.

“Give me one of your ties,” Vimes directed. Nick did, and Vimes tied Nick’s hands behind his back. He admired the view for a moment, a present for himself, all neatly tied up on his lap. Then he slid out from under Nick, discarding the used glove, and he straddled Nick and entered him, giving him a hard spank as he thrust in. Nick twitched all around him, a magnificent sensation for Vimes’s cock.

“Goodness,” Nick gasped.

Vimes spanked him again and again as he pushed in and out, and Nick shivered and spasmed on him, moaning, whining, and whimpering most gratifyingly. Vimes thrust in deep and bent down, almost parallel to Nick, and kissed and sucked on where his neck met his shoulder and murmured into his ear, “You’re always so responsive.”

“You give me a lot to work with, sweetheart,” Nick replied.

It didn’t take long for either of them, but it took long enough for the anticipation to be half the pleasure, and so it was all very well.

“Very good,” Vimes panted, cuddling against Nick’s back. “What about your inner thighs?”

“Heh. Sure,” said Nick.

Vimes rolled off him and nudged him over, and Nick spread his legs invitingly for Vimes, who only regretted that he was spent, because he would have had Nick again, then and there, if he could. He stroked along Nick’s sensitive inner thighs with both hands before striking him there. Nick sank into the bed and moaned, his face, now that Vimes was in a position to see it, a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. Vimes resolved to keep going until that shame dissipated and was no more. Pain briefly flashed across Nick when Vimes struck him, but the pleasure always returned, low in his throat.

“You’ve been so good that you deserve some lip service,” Vimes eventually concluded, and he took Nick’s cock in his mouth, fondling his undamaged ball in his free hand. Spanking the inside of Nick’s thigh while sucking his cock was an interesting exercise in coordination, especially hazy from the afterglow of a recent orgasm, but the noises that Nick was making were so delightful that Vimes was hardly going to stop.

When Vimes was satisfied that he’d made Nick come and Nick’s cock stopped jerking and spasming in his mouth, soft again, Vimes moved up and embraced Nick, tucking his head under Nick’s chin. Nick flexed and twisted his wrists and pulled his synthflesh hand free of the tie around his wrists. He ruffled Vimes’s hair and asked fondly, “Didja have fun spanking me sore, doll?”

“I didn’t break anything, did I?” Vimes asked, suddenly worried. It had been so easy to get into rhythm.

“No, I wouldn’t have let you, love,” Nick reassured, kissing his head.

Vimes breathed a sigh of relief. “Well… yes. Very much so. But. Erm.” He could say it now. He had to say it now. “I actually meant to ask you to spank me.”

“I guess you were pretty good,” Nick said breezily, synthflesh hand creeping down Vimes’s spine until he cupped Vimes’s closer buttock and gave it a speculative squeeze. “Synthflesh hand, right?”

“Yes please,” Vimes mumbled, closing his eyes and burying his face against Nick’s chest. The metal hand held its own appeal, but it couldn’t be an activity when he had to work the next day. Vimes wasn’t interested in pain, far from it, but the calmness that came after.

Nick struck him, and Vimes bit his lip. There was that initial blushing kiss of pain, and then a sting, and then Nick was rubbing him. Nick spanked him again, over a different spot, varying where he hit, how hard he hit, and how he hit, with hand cupped or flat, fingers splayed or together. A growing warmth spread over his cheeks, top and bottom. He cocooned up in the sensation, cozy and floating. Time passed. Vimes’s blissful drifting was interrupted by Nick asking, “So, can I give you a dicking down, too?”

Groggily, Vimes agreed, “Uhm. Yes.”

Nick moved him onto his back and pushed up both of his legs, splaying his metal hand behind his knees to hold him up. He alternated smacking Vimes with fingering him and lubing him up, and Vimes whimpered, staring up at the ceiling. He’d gotten very familiar with the ceiling in their bedroom. It was comforting. He was sure he’d know if anything about it changed.

Then Nick had him, his hips smacking up against Vimes’s reddened, dully aching buttocks, flushed with blood, every stroke of his prick accompanied by a spank of his hand. Everything was more sensitive, more intense than he’d imagined it could be. His hands scrabbled at the sheets, fingers digging in.

Vimes came first, easily, diffuse but long, a sort of orgasm that didn’t so much start or end as it pulsed, coming in waves as Nick made love to him.

Eventually, Nick came as well, his cock pulsing in Vimes, and they collapsed together, Vimes panting for breath, Nick with his fans whining.

Before Vimes drifted off to sleep, running brain briefly quieted, Nick asked, “Y’get what you wanted out of that, doll?”

Vimes didn’t have to think about that. He said, “Yes,” and he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A:** The “Ankh-Morporkian Vice” is a reference to the English Vice, ahem.
> 
> Ankh-Morpork is a pastiche of a lot of things, but towards the end of the series, it has a distinct Victorian vibe, and spanking was very common in Victorian times. It was even a past-time for bored housewives. "Women formed clubs to improve their whipping skills." - How Sex Got Screwed Up: The Ghosts that Haunt Our Sexual Pleasure - Book One.
> 
> **We love comments of all lengths, and understand the need for low-energy commenting like kudos. If you ever find yourself wanting to give us additional kudos, feel free to leave a comment of an icon or emoji of a heart!** <3


	4. Dressing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Nick get up to a little bedroom roleplay. They’re kind of bad at it, but that doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We’ve created a Discord server for chatting about Discworld, Fallout, or this fic. Feel free to join us at<https://discord.gg/6QM4Egy>**

_Dressing Down_

Vimes had arrived home early enough to spend time with his sons and had done so before being called away by work, and by the time he arrived home again, he crept into the laundry to leave his more blood-stained items there. He was wiping down his helmet when he became sharply aware that Nick was behind him. Nick had been on swing shift down in Least Gate. He gave Vimes a friendly nod and observed, “You’re tenser than usual, doll, but whatever happened, the scuttlebutt’s not reached Least Gate yet.”

“Oh, I…” Vimes sighed as he wiped off his breastplate, which was now hung on one of the laundry racks in the mudroom. “Just an overturned blood pudding cart on Chittling Street. I was chasing down an offensive exhibitionist, and don’t you know it, a cart flips over on me.” He sniffed. It was so typical. “Still got him, though.”

Nick tilted his head to the side and said incredulously, “...weren’t you in a City Council meeting?”

“Ye-es, well, Mr. Gullet said that nautchery isn’t an art form, that anyone can take their clothes off, it’s not skilled labour,” recounted Vimes, grimacing, “to which Ms. Voom objected, which led to the Society of Apothecaries putting something in Mr. Gullet’s drink - don’t think I didn’t see that - which led to Mr. Gullet streaking down half the city.”

Nick gave Vimes a level look.

“I don’t do it that often! And it was with a good reason!” Vimes said defensively, crossing his arms. Chain mail was a devil to clean, but he had to at least get the blood off, because blood was damp, and damp brought rust, and rust led to chain mail that fell apart when someone sneezed at it funny. Maintenance of his armour was a high priority on Vimes’s list. He didn’t want it to shine, and a few dents were fine, but falling apart in a pinch was not on.

Nick neatly hung up his own armour. “You’re selling me a line, wanting me to think that a little street chase is why you’re so upset.”

Vimes sighed again. “I, well… the League of Decency took a different tact today. They said I had taken improper license with you, as Watch Commander.”

“Ah. I s’pose that’s why you were ready for a street chase,” observed Nick.

“I’m always ready for a street chase,” corrected Vimes. 

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose and put his arm around Vimes’s shoulders. “You’d never do that, anyway.” Then he muttered lowly, “Maybe not even if I asked you to.”

Vimes nodded along. Nick had such faith in him. Of course he’d never do anything… Vimes paused, unblinking. After a long moment, he sputtered, “What!?”

Nick put up his hands. “Sheesh, forget I said anything.”

It wasn’t that Vimes never had thoughts of kissing Nick when they were out taking shelter together on patrol in a quiet alcove in the wind, rain, and dark. He was sure that Angua sometimes had thoughts of kissing Carrot when she was on the job. (He was sure Watchmen who weren’t even dating Carrot had thoughts of kissing Carrot on the job.) But it would be unprofessional, and that was that. Vimes couldn’t do it. Besides, kissing Nick could lead to pinning Nick up against said alcove, and pinning Nick could lead to a hand wandering down and…

But taking license with his position as Watch Commander to coerce Nick? Hanging was far too good for a man who would do that. They’d have to go back to the old staples of punishment, like tying that sod naked to a tree, slathering him in honey, and letting cattle eat him alive.

There was no way Vimes could have possibly understood Nick correctly, and it was going to bother him, so he asked, “Explain?”

Nick squirmed, “Uhm, dunno, you’ve just got a… nice voice?” Then he shook himself out. “No. Not nice. Commanding, when you want it to be, and maybe I’d like to hear that voice telling me to get on my knees.” Nick made a coughing noise. He couldn’t blush, but Vimes could tell that he was deeply embarrassed.

“Oh, you don’t mean _actually_ …” Vimes said hesitantly.

“No! Of course not. You’d never do that. Just a bit of play-acting,” Nick hastily clarified.

“Play-acting… right. You’d tell me if you felt, er, put-upon, wouldn’t you?” said Vimes nervously. “Or maybe Captain Angua, right, if you didn’t feel comfortable -?”

“I feel safe with you. That’s why I’d even, erm, joke about…” Nick gestured vaguely. 

“I don’t know that I’d trust me. I can be a devious bastard,” Vimes said gloomily.

Nick moved back around to stand face to face with Vimes, and he reached out and cupped Vimes’s chin, fingers stroking along his cheek. “Uh huh, and that’s why the best place for you is right where I can see you.”

Nick was kinkier than Sybil was. Nick was, for that matter, kinkier than Vimes was, although Vimes knew that he was quite firmly a white bread BLT and suspected that Nick really only branched out as far as a rye. Nick never pushed Vimes on anything, though. He’d make a suggestion, and he’d back away. Vimes knew he hadn’t been the sort of partner that Valentine deserved, and because that failure would always haunt him, he did try to make a game attempt at meeting Valentine halfway.

Handcuffs, for example. Those weren’t something Vimes would have actually thought to take into the bedroom for anything other than intended purposes, but Valentine had suggested it, and Vimes had tried them, and it was… yes, there was a sort of heady thrill to a little easily-escaped confinement with someone he trusted and loved. For another example, using one of Nick’s silk ties as a blindfold...

Was there somewhere halfway now, where he could meet Nick? Vimes observed distantly, “I couldn’t at work, you know. It’d be unprofessional.”

“You’ve got that home office you barely use,” said Nick.

Vimes did. He was a swift walker when he wanted to be, and if work needed doing, it was easier to nip down to Pseudopolis Yard. Everyone was there, anyway. Every now and then, he’d draft out a new trap in his home office. That was about all he did with it. “And you’d want me to… comport myself as a… corrupt Watch Commander?”

“Uh huh. I mean. If you felt up to it.” Nick looked concerned that he might have asked for too much. “Y’know, ask me in for a lil’ one on one inspection…”

Vimes shut his eyes, and he thought. What he _felt_ was a good deal of panic. He could say ‘no’ to all of that, he knew. Vimes thought about saying, _You know, Nick, why don’t we just curl up by the fire for a while and then retire to our bedroom._

But what he said was a short, snapped, “Why’s your armour on the rack? Don’t you know you should have it on? I’ll see you in my office, Constable.”

Vimes thought he could meet Valentine halfway, and if he couldn’t, well, they had their faithful light system of green, yellow, and red, and he could always tap out.

Vimes sunk into his chair in his home office and tried to get his head on straight, or maybe he was trying to get it on bent. He wasn’t sure. Vimes couldn’t deny being excited by the vulnerability that Nick was offering him, even if there was a tinge of shame to it all… He didn’t look up as he heard Nick walking up - one of the planks in the hallways squeaked just so - but he did put on a bored voice to say, “It’s as if you don’t even care that you’re late -”

Nick just happened to step on a suspicious circular cut in the floor, which lifted him up onto a decorative pillar. Nick hurriedly rolled off the pedestal of the rising pillar before he was trapped up against the ceiling. Nick snapped, “Sam, what the devil!?”

“...oh, right, I forgot that I’d been working on that one. Erm, sorry,” said Vimes, rising from his seat to check on Nick, who was no worse the wear, pride aside.

Nick sighed, “Right, uhm… if you could just start over from that bit where you were reaming me out over being late? That was a good bit.”

Vimes nodded and sat back down. “Tardiness is very suspicious. Very suspicious. I know that you don’t have anything better to be doing.”

“Nosir,” agreed Nick, tossing off a salute and standing in front of the desk in a reasonable facsimile of attention.

“And the angles on that salute! Do you even use a protractor? No?” Vimes continued, drawing on some of the most idiotically overbearing officers he’d known, and he’d known so many.

“Nosir,” said Nick.

“And what’s all this ‘nosir’ I’m hearing? ‘No sir’ is two words, two words, mark me, and that first one’s not one you ought to be using. I want to hear a lot more ‘yes sir’, you hear?” harangued Vimes.

“Yes sir,” said Nick, shuffling his feet.

“And did I say you could move?” Vimes said, baiting a different sort of trap.

“Nosir-” Nick started.

“What did I tell you? What _did_ I tell you, Constable Valentine? Is there something wrong with that mouth of yours?” asked Vimes.

“Yes sir?” Nick tendered.

“Then I had better inspect it, hadn’t I?” Vimes concluded. He scooted his chair back and gestured at the space between him and the desk. “Come here, Constable.”

“Yes sir,” Nick said gamely, and shortly, he stood between Vimes and the desk.

Vimes allowed himself a few deep breaths. Nick had _explicitly_ asked for this. He’d been very clear about it. Nick waited quietly, his fan and servos humming with a note of anticipation that Vimes had learned to recognize. Anticipation was half the pleasure, wasn’t it?

“On your knees.”

Vimes was a little startled by just how quickly Nick obeyed, folding down neatly. He knelt there with his hands on his knees, looking up, waiting and ready. Vimes took a few more breaths. Oh, that was a pleasant view of Nick. Very fine. He growled, “You’ve been running that smart mouth off again,” and it didn’t even matter if Nick had or hadn’t, it never did for accusations like these, “and it’s time I shut it up before you get yourself into any more trouble, hmm? You ought to be grateful.”

Vimes unbuckled his sword belt and his pteruges and unbuttoned his breeches. He worked his cock out through the flap of his smalls, and there was an entirely different shading to the way that Nick said, “ _Yes sir_ ,” as his golden gaze dropped from Vimes’s face down to his nethers.

Vimes scooted to the edge of his chair and directed, “Let’s see if that big mouth of yours can fit _this_.”

Nick obediently leaned in and grasped the shaft with his synthflesh hand and took the tip in his mouth. His lips closed around, and his tongue provided firm pressure along the underside as he sucked up and down, hand moving to stroke Vimes’s nadgers as he took all of Vimes into his mouth. Vimes leaned back in his chair and let Nick see to him. He was hard before he knew it.The suction and pressure were delightful, and Nick picked up the pace as Vimes got into it, Nick bracing his metal hand against the inside of Vimes’s thigh.

It was just a knob job, wasn’t it? A magnificent one, Nick knew well what Vimes liked, but all the same, it was only the framing of the situation around it that made it look suspicious, wasn’t it? Vimes wouldn’t be feeling at all guilty if they were in their bed, and Nick was between his thighs there. But this was _an_ office, and there Nick was, occasionally pausing to look up at Vimes with, oh... that was adoration, wasn’t it?

Something nagged at Vimes, despite the wanton pleasure, which was sitting up and demanding that Vimes grab Nick by the helmet and force his mouth down. When he figured out what it was, he said weakly, “Uhm, yellow? Yellow. Slow down. Uhm, Nick, dear? I haven’t got a sonky on.”

Nick paused, and Vimes found himself regretting it, as Nick took his mouth off his cock, and he offered, “You can make a mess of me tonight, if ya want. I’ll clean up after.”

Hellfire, but that was a tempting offer! Vimes said faintly, “But I might want to go around your backdoor later.” Tonight, he felt more in the mood to give than be got.

Nick had a positively hungry look on his face for someone who couldn’t eat. “I can clean that up, too.”

Vimes knew what a damned mess it would be, too, but if Nick was offering, then that was all right, he told himself firmly. He waved vaguely. “Right, then… as you were?”

Nick’s hot mouth returned to Vimes’s stiff cock, lips and tongue moving up and down. Vimes let him at it for a while and contemplated just leaning back in his chair and letting Nick suck him off. That would be lovely. Had Nick asked for lovely? In one quick motion, Vimes reached out, grabbed the back of Nick’s helmet and forced his mouth down, rolling his hips up to thrust into Nick’s mouth.

Nick made a muffled _mmphh_ noise, and his fans pitched higher and faster, but he took his hand off Vimes’s thigh to give him a thumbs up. 

It didn’t take many more minutes of that, and soon, Vimes was blissful, and Nick was a dripping mess. That didn’t seem fair, but Nick had not asked for fair. He’d asked for quite the opposite. Vimes shot him a withering glance and sniffed, “Aren’t you just a shamble, Constable. You may have a moment to clean yourself up, but I expect you back here. We’re not done yet, not by half, with this inspection.”

Nick wiped his mouth and said quietly, “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.” He rose, and Vimes watched him go.

Then he sank back in his chair, enjoying the warm, pink-tinged afterglow. Damn! Nick was so very good with his mouth.

After a few minutes, Nick returned, tidied up, and he discreetly set a bottle of Mrs. Proust’s Gentlemen’s Emollient on the side of Vimes’s desk. Vimes rose and ran his finger along Nick’s jawline, snarling, “You missed a spot,” before kissing him hard. Nick used a sort of mint vinegar mouthwash, and Vimes tasted it now, though it never hid the cigarettes. “And you’ve been smoking on duty. I can _taste_ it.”

Nick probably hadn’t been smoking on duty, but these accusations never needed to make sense. The best barricades would collapse under a sufficient barrage.

“Sir, if you’d like to supervise my cleaning -” Nick started.

Vimes went a little cross eyed. “...maybe another time. No. No! You are submitting to an inspection, because your behaviour’s been extremely irregular.” He sat back down in his chair. “Now take that helmet off and give it to me.”

Nick did, and Vimes absently turned the helmet over in his hands. It was a low-crested morion, a little dented and scratched and none too shiny but without any rust, and the inside was padded properly for comfortable daily wear. No sensible officer would take any issue with it. He wasn’t being a sensible officer, and a wicked streak of mischief took him, and he asked, “Where are your plumes, Constable?”

Nick blinked, genuinely confused. He asked, bewildered, “Plumes, sir?”

Vimes fiddled with his Pip-Boy, which he used to track scheduling, because it meant that Sybil didn’t buy him any more Dis-Organisers. He needed Shaun’s help with it often, but it didn’t talk back to him. Shaun had put in a tab for him with Nick’s schedule, because Vimes did worry, and he liked to have at least a vague idea of where Nick might be at any given time. Granted, last month, when Nick was supposed to be at Chittling Street, he and Flavours had managed to get embroiled in untangling a conspiracy that had led them to the outskirts of New Ankh and to a grisly underground stuffed animal fighting ring. In any case, Vimes made a show of pulling up Nick’s schedule and railing, “You’re on Day Shift, and the route takes you right by the Palace, and you haven’t got any plumes?”

Nick broke down laughing, held up a hand, and begged, “Red? Stop? Uhm, I’m sorry, Sam, I just… I _know_ how much you hate plumes. I can’t take it seriously.”

“Oh, come on! That was really good!” Vimes argued.

“Yeah, yeah, I could really see you reaching for the material…” Nick admitted. “Okay, uh.. Plumes.” He snickered. “Right. I’m ready to start again.”

Vimes set the helmet on the desk and directed crisply, “Your sword belt?”

Nick unbuckled that and offered it up. The sword hung in its scabbard, along with the ceremonial bell1, the whistle, the hourglass, the truncheon on the other side, the handcuffs, the scrap of blue flannel, and the holy sign for patrols in the Shades - Nick carried a small, plain cross for those purposes. Vimes slid the sword out of the sheath and examined it. It was the standard unstandard city issue and well-maintained, but Vimes happened to know that about the only time that Nick used his sword was when Sybil cornered Nick into helping her with calisthenics. He absently gave it a flip, watched as Nick’s expression dropped as the sword lazily revolved three times through the air, and caught it. Vimes said coolly, “Hardly seems used. Been doing your job at all, Constable?”

Now that poked a nerve or a wire, as the case might be. “If I’m using the sword, I’ve failed at my job! ...sir.”

Vimes slid the sword back into its scabbard. He said absently, “I’ll have to show you a thing or two about sheathing a sword.”

Nick calmed as Vimes poked about the rest of his gear. He flipped the hourglass over. “This keeps accurate time?”

“Not as such, sir,” Nick admitted cautiously.

Vimes barked out a laugh. “It’d be a first, if it did. Oak truncheon, whistle… well, I’ve seen how well you blow, Constable.”

Nick squirmed, holding in a laugh.

“Cape off,” Vimes ordered.

Nick unclipped it and folded it up neatly. Vimes checked the pockets on the inside of the cape and found Nick’s pocketbook, which he set off to the side, and a pack of cigarettes. Vimes waved them around and ranted, “Ah-hah! Filthy habit, you know.”

Nick looked at where Vimes kept his silver cigar case and murmured, “As you say, sir.”

“Crossbow.”

Nick took it down off its strap and gingerly set it down on the desk, facing no one.

“Breastplate next,” Vimes directed.

Nick undid the clasps and buckles. Vimes examined it and said witheringly, “It’s not polished at all.”

Vimes didn’t care about polish on a breastplate. Shine made it harder to hide.

“Well, sir, I can’t really do a spit shine,” Nick said dryly.

Vimes slammed his hands on the desk. “ _Excuses_. Off with that chain mail shirt!”

“Yes sir,” Nick said again, hauling it up over his head. Now he was just there in his jerkin, breeches, and boots.

Vimes played with the links. Chain mail shirts jingled. It was very difficult to move silently in one, though it wasn’t impossible. Now Vimes picked up Nick’s handcuffs, which were on his belt, which he’d removed earlier, and Vimes opened and closed them a few times. The handcuffs were good steel, albeit peculiarly blackened, and slender, with a ratchet mechanism. They weren’t like the clumsy shackles most Watchmen carried. He observed, “These aren’t regulation.”

There was nothing wrong with that. Vimes didn’t object to Watchmen bringing kit from home. It was better than any of the official stuff they checked out of the Armoury. 

Vimes clicked them open and closed a few more times, and then he asked, “Have you ever really thought what it’s like, being cuffed with these?”

“Uh, yeah, I made sure I could get out of them… sir,” Nick admitted, and Vimes felt a swell of pride to go along with that swell of lust that had him gripped.

“Oh, _really?_ Bend over my desk, Constable,” Vimes directed.

Nick did. Vimes grabbed Nick’s wrists, cuffed the synthflesh one, looped the other side of the handcuffs through the handle on his middle desk drawer, and then cuffed Nick’s metal hand, cinching the cuff tight. He then circled around his desk and took a moment to admire Nick’s bottom, right there for him. Vimes gave those synthetic cheeks a squeeze through Nick’s breeches, humming. Nick made a soft noise that suggested he was holding in a louder one. Vimes reached around and unbuttoned Nick’s breeches, sliding his hand in. Nick was half-hard, and Vimes breathed, “Well, well, what a suspicious package you’re got here.”

He took his hand out and pulled Nick’s breeches and smalls down just enough for access. Then Vimes rubbed Nick’s buttocks again, loving how he was making Nick squirm. He let his thumb flick lazily over Nick’s tight arsehole. Half the pleasure was in the anticipation, indeed. Nick pushed up against him. Vime made him wait. He said, “I’m going to have to do a very probing examination, here.”

He slicked lube around Nick’s arsehole and onto his fingers, which he then worked in, curling up against that sensitive spot. Nick moaned slightly, unable to hold back. Vimes asked frostily, “Are you enjoying being examined, Constable?”

A twisted officer could make any answer to that wrong.

“Yes sir,” was what Nick selected, with convincing enthusiasm.

“I’m going to have to use a bigger tool to really get to the bottom of this,” said Vimes, smearing lube on his cock. Then he spread his fingers as he withdrew them from Nick’s arse, yielding another muffled moan, and he guided his cock in instead, drawing a moan that failed to be muffled.

“You’re tense. Don’t think I won’t find what you’re hiding,” Vimes warned, thrusting deeper, skin against synthetic skin, with only a bit of lube in between. Nick was marvelously tight around him. 

“Be my, uh, guest, sir,” offered Nick.

“I’ll go as deep as I have to,” Vimes hissed, grabbing Nick’s hips and pushing as Nick yielded to him. “And you see, Constable, that’s how you sheath your sword.”

“Show me again, sir?” Nick said cheekily.

Vimes did, giving Nick a right good reaming. Nick was a little slice of some strange heaven. Vimes railed Nick until he tightened again and his fans and servos hit that certain fever pitch that said he’d come, and then Vimes went very still. He gave it a moment, and then he demanded, “Did I say that you could come, Constable?”

Nick took some time to reply with a hazy, “...no?”

Vimes gave Nick’s bum another squeeze and then pulled his buttocks apart. “You don’t come unless I say you do, understand?”

“Uh. Okay. Sorry?” said Nick, who appeared to be too well-shagged to stay much in character.

Vimes was very, very close, but he exercised a little self-discipline and pulled out, slicking some more lube on his prick. He tugged Nick’s breeches and smalls all the way down, pulled off his boots, and jerked Nick’s breeches and smalls all the way off to rest in a heap on the floor. Then Vimes reached over and uncuffed Nick’s metal hand. Then he hauled Nick up and cuffed Nick’s hands in front of him. He lifted one of Nick’s thighs, such that Nick was standing on one leg, and Nick, abruptly aware that he needed to balance, scrambled to hold onto the edge of the desk. 

_Then_ Vimes entered him again. Nick scrambled a moment against gravity before concluding that sinking down on Vimes was he wanted to be doing, in fact. Vimes thrust fast and hard, one arm wrapped around Nick’s chest, the other holding up his leg, fingers tight on his thigh. Nick whimpered, “Oh, God…”

Vimes caught him this time and said sharply, “What did I tell you?”

“...don’t come unless you say so?”

“Yes. Well. Don’t,” said Vimes, grinding a bit in his lover. “Besides… I didn’t lock the office door. What’s someone going to think, if they walk in and see you _loving_ being used so?”

“Uh, it’ll probably be Shaun, ‘cos he’s an insomniac, and he’s walked in on us before?” said Nick, too close to his second orgasm to care about play-acting.

Vimes sighed. Actually, it would be no one, because he knew how the floorboards creaked if someone was approaching. “Nick, this was your idea. You really could try.”

“I, oh… uhm. Uhm. I’ll be good, sir. I won’t come unless you say so,” said Nick, sheepishly.

“Good,” Vimes grunted, and he laid into Nick. Gods, it was good, Nick a whimpering mess up against him, tight on his cock.

He savoured it, holding off until he could hold off no more. As he spurted in that hot, sweet arse, Vimes murmured in Nick’s ear, “Now.”

Vimes held his little piece of some strange heaven close to him, basking in the ecstasy. He let Nick’s leg down. After a while, Vimes asked, “Are you all right, dear?”

“I’m as good as I can be, sweetheart,” said Nick, twisting in his arms to kiss Vimes, revealing that he had gotten one side of the handcuffs off while Vimes had been occupied plowing him. “But, uhm… could ya hold me for a bit?”

Dammit, but Vimes wanted to be held, too. They cuddled on the floor in front of the desk. 

“You… enjoyed that?” Vimes asked, eventually.

“Mmm-hmm,” Nick confirmed, nuzzling Vimes. Then he turned a concerned look on his lover. “But did you?”

“Oh yes,” Vimes said shortly. _Possibly a bit too much, but as long as you’re fine..._

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” said Nick, nibbling along Vimes’s jawline. “You humouring me like that.”

There must have been some questions in Vimes’s eyes, because Nick admitted, “Hey. I’m Catholic, doll. I got so many issues with submission to authority that I might as well sign up for a subscription.” He shrugged, and he smiled self-consciously.

Vimes thought there was a bit more to it than that, but for once, he didn’t want to pry, so he kissed Nick again.

When Nick’s fans and servos had calmed down, and Vimes’s heart had stopped racing and they were laying together in the quiet, Nick eventually said, “All right. I’ll go get cleaned up. You get to bed, sweetheart.”

“I could help clean,” Vimes offered.

Even if he didn’t have Nick raw, Nick still needed a cleaning, or he’d be wandering around with stale lube up his arse.

Nick laughed. “I’ve got it, don’t you worry.”

Reluctantly, Vimes did go to bed. He was still awake when Nick joined him. He cuddled up against Nick’s side. Nick was still there when he woke, reading a book as he often was, but still there. They kissed in the morning and parted to dress for the day.

1 Vimes had banned the use of the bell save for ceremonial purposes. The Watchmen who patrolled along Scoone Avenue at night had decided that shouting, “All’s well!” and ringing the bell as loudly as possible in order to repeatedly wake up the Watch Commander counted as a ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A:** I like to think they also have role-play scenarios where Nick doms. These role-plays are possibly less awkward than this one. Except that time when Sam pretended to be a dangerous dude in trouble who had to flounce sexily on Nick’s desk. Sam does not flounce sexily well. Or at all, really.
> 
> ****We love comments of all lengths, and understand the need for low-energy commenting like kudos. If you ever find yourself wanting to give us additional kudos, feel free to leave a comment of an icon or emoji of a heart!**** <3


	5. Could I Watch?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during Un/Affected. As Un/Affected was going up, one of our readers speculated on what it would be like if Nick Valentine decided to try and love himself for once, so this happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **We’ve created a Discord server for chatting about Discworld, Fallout, or this fic. Feel free to join us at<https://discord.gg/6QM4Egy>**

_Could I Watch?_

> As Valentine handcuffed Hancock, Hancock grumbled, “Aw Nicky… go fuck yourself.”
> 
> Valentine considered a moment. “I suppose I could.” _Would that be masturbation?_ he wondered.
> 
> Vimes about choked. Valentine smiled at him. As they wandered off into the night air with Hancock in between them, Vimes wheezed out, “Er… if you do… could I watch?”

Valentine didn’t spend as much time alone with himself as one might have expected. Ankh-Morpork was a fascinating city, especially by night, and if he had free time, he wanted to be out and about. His free time rarely lined up. The werewolf Valentine’s night had originally been spoken for; he’d been planning on going on a date night with Vimes to a park where Vimes was going to show Valentine all the locations where public flashers had been arrested on gross indecency.

But Vimes had gotten called off an emergency city meeting to discuss the troll drug crisis. The Merchants’ Guild was upset that the Apothecaries’ Guild had been selling illegal draughts and that they weren’t allowed to sell them also and the Guild of Barber-Surgeons was concerned that pulling dangerous substances off the streets was going to hurt their revenue stream.

The synth Valentine, on the other hand, was home somewhat earlier than usual. He usually wrote the reports for Artificial Flavours when they patrolled together, and that took a little time, but today, there was a she-rat who came from the Patrician’s Palace whom Artificial Flavours was trying to impress with his knowledge of reading and writing, so Artificial Flavours wanted to write the report himself.

“Isn’t letting her watch… giving a civilian insider information?” the synth Valentine had said dubiously to the rat.

“Oh, it’s okay. Flls can’t read!” Artificial Flavours had replied cheerily.

“And you have that on her word?” said Valentine, raising a delicately painted eyebrow.

The she-rat chirped innocently. 

But Valentine caved. Was it really any worse than taking a civilian on a Walk Along1? So maybe Flls would find out they’d stopped four petty thefts, two domestic disturbances, a drunk and disorderly, and a sexual assault. What was she gonna do about it, tell the Patrician?

So the synth Valentine was home early, and Vimes might not be home that evening at all. After the two Valentines had fielded all of the boys’ homework-associated questions and asked Sybil how her Delta IX2 breed of swamp dragon was coming along, he’d found himself alone with himself.

“We could see if Codsworth wants to play cards,” the synth Valentine suggested.

“Want to come to Biers with me?” suggested the werewolf. “I can get you in. I know you’ve been curious.”

Valentine knew himself too well. He sighed. “Well, maybe I’m not a werewolf, but I’ll bite.”

“Good thing you’re not a werewolf, too, because I get in trouble when I bite,” his other half said, smirking.

The undead, generally speaking, looked down on the unalive, and while Biers got billed as place for anyone who wasn’t too usual - tooth fairies sure weren’t undead, and neither were minor Oh Gods - the clientele still found it within themselves to look at a Gen 2 synth and sneer, _Well, maybe not **that** unusual._ Going along with a werewolf, though, netted the synth Valentine only a few glares and no challenges. 

The synth didn’t quite know how the Biers clientele just seemed to know that the other Valentine was a werewolf. So he had golden eyes. So did some Klatchians. So maybe his ears had the slightest of points to them. So did a whole lot of Llamedosians who had a little elvish blood. So maybe his teeth were so very sharp…

_ (...all the better to eat you with, my dear.) _

“It’s the smell,” the werewolf Valentine supplied helpfully. “The other werewolves can smell me, and there’s a fair few of them in here, today. Smelled me before I walked in the door, as a matter of fact, and now that I’m in here, the vampires can smell me, too. Now, the banshee sense of smell ain’t so hot, but they got great eyes, and Mr. Ixolite there was watching Lupine, and when Ixolite saw Lupine sniffing the air, he knew what was up.”

Lupine was apparently the big dog - wolf, Valentine mentally corrected himself - sitting at the heel of Ludmilla, one of the assistant landlords on Elm Street. Ludmilla covered her mouth with her hand to hide her amusement.

“Anyway, try a Neck Bolt,” the werewolf Valentine suggested, nudging the synth.

“They good?” asked the synth.

“Uh… I wouldn’t call them ‘good’. They’re just clear, an’ I don’t wanna help you unlatch a dozen different pieces so you can unclog an intake hose,” said the werewolf.

So this was Biers. The Neck Bolts were clear. The women were -

“Don’t even think that,” warned the werewolf Valentine, impinging on the synth’s internal narration. “Ludmilla’s mom is a psychic, and I don’t know for sure that she ain’t, too.”

“Wait, Ankh-Morpork’s got psykers?” said the synth, blinking. “When did it get psykers?”

“Psychics,” corrected the werewolf, “and I dunno, since forever, probably?”

“That’s horse puckey,” the synth grumbled into his drink.

“You spent the day with an intelligent rat,” the werewolf said, and his nose twitched.

“One, don’t tell me you can smell Artificial Flavours on me - ” warned the synth.

“Okay, I won’t,” the werewolf said amiably. “He got a new girlfriend?”

“And two, that’s completely different,” said Valentine. “He was mutated by magic…” The synth stared down into his drink.

Mutated. Wasn’t that how psykers happened, too?

“DiMA says he’s read minds a few times. Apparently, for wizards, it’s easier than reading body language,” teased the werewolf.

“Jesus, as long as he’s just reading and not getting write-access, I don’t care what he’s doing,” the synth groused, then he caught himself. He really needed to care more about what DiMA was doing. He needed to care more about DiMA, period. Maybe DiMA was kind of sketchy, but the poor guy was alone with no family in this whole world but a brother, and it was on Valentine to be that brother and not half-ass it.

People watching at Biers was nearly a full contact sport. They watched back. Valentine didn’t know necks could rotate like that.

After a few drinks, they ended up heading back home for the night. Codsworth was having a begonia crisis in the garden. They decided to leave him be. In their bedroom, the werewolf studied the synth, who was reaching for one of their nightgowns, and he cleared his throat delicately. It sounded like he was stifling a howl. “So uh, our ol’ Sammy boy said John told you to go fuck yourself?”

The synth snorted. “In his dreams.”

“Did… did you want to?” asked the werewolf.

The synth made a face. “God, how many sins are we piling together in one, there?”

The werewolf shrugged. “Bein’ a werewolf gets you excommunicated, so I ain’t got anything to lose.”

The synth winced. “I didn’t mean - ”

“Heh, don’t worry about it,” said the werewolf.

“I… you’d actually want to?” the synth asked carefully. He was a busted old machine. It was a wonder that anyone gave him the time of day. Meanwhile the werewolf was, to outward appearances, a rather dashing middle-aged gentleman.

“Given that I know what I think about myself, I’m betting you’re thinking Sam’s got some upgrade when he’s with me, and maybe I’m thinking you could do with being shown how to love yourself,” the werewolf said, tilting his head slightly.

_I’m some refuse that crawled out of the dump._

“Didn’t Sam say he wanted to watch?” the synth said faintly.

“Pardon my French, but fuck Sam,” the werewolf said, grinning. “Or rather, don’t. I mean, he’d like it, but he’s not here.”

“Did I just let myself get taken out for a drink and picked up by myself?” asked the synth.

“Dunno, did you?” asked the werewolf, circling closer.

“Yeah. My curiosity’s gonna kill me if I don’t,” said the synth.

Why wouldn’t their Sam want a real flesh-and-blood man _\- with jaws that smell like flesh and blood -_ with warm arms _\- not warm like capacitors, warm with life -_ and a heart that beats _\- humming like neon_? The difference was so clear, so stark. Vimes couldn’t be faulted, really. But there was Valentine pushing Valentine down on the bed, kissing at the base of his neck, where his sensor net coverage was still good, insisting with emphatic physicality that flesh and blood could and did desire a machine, that Valentine ought to love himself.

Valentine knew where to touch himself. Of course he did. He knew where his circuits shorted, knew what to avoid, the loose couplings, what would cause those funny phantoms sensations of ghost capacitance if he pressed just so. Valentine had Valentine tingling full-body, metal toes curled just so, with soft touches and harder strokes in all the right places. His breath was hot against his thigh, and his metal fingertips buried themselves in his tightly curled dark hair, scratching his scalp.

Vimes knew Valentine pretty well, and Valentine hadn’t been shy about explaining what he liked, but some things were difficult to put into words that made sense to a man who had not only never had a basic physics class but who came from a world wherein physics was just budget magic. Valentine didn’t have to explain anything to Valentine. He knew. Oh, he knew. Valentine arched against himself and whined, the high whine of an electrical transformer, the whine of a wolf, the whine of a wolf transforming to an electrical man.

When he came, when he called out, it was a function call, a self-referential loop, recursive with cursing. Valentine held Valentine, cuddling against himself, panting, knowing that he was known, knowing that he could love himself, if he had to.

When Vimes stumbled in an hour after the werewolf had fallen asleep, he paused a moment, looking at his husbands naked under the sheets, their nightgowns left in the armoire, and some colour rose on his cheeks. The synth put down the book that he’d been reading on the nightstand, and he murmured, “Sam?”

“Don’t you two look cozy,” Vimes said quietly, a smile touching the corners of his lips as he looked over his lovers. He slipped off his clothes and tucked himself in beside the synth.

Valentine suddenly felt self-conscious and defensive, like he needed some excuse to explain his actions. “Well, I…”

Vimes kissed him on the cheek and turned over, apparently completely unperturbed. In a few minutes, he was snoring.

Valentine could tell himself that Vimes only tucked in beside him because he didn’t want to wake the werewolf. He could. But he’d loved himself once tonight, and he let himself remember that he could be loved. That Valentine _was_ loved. Then he reached for his book.

How _was_ Detective Orangutan going to catch the arsonist who kept targeting morgues?

1 Ride Alongs were discouraged by Vimes, after there had been a few unfortunate velocipede incidents.

2 [Perhaps it’s just a cosmic coincidence.](https://fallout.fandom.com/wiki/Delta_IX_rocket)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Un/Affected was going up, one of our readers speculated on what it would be like if Nick Valentine decided to try and love himself for once, so this happened. 
> 
> **We love comments of all lengths, and understand the need for low-energy commenting like kudos. If you ever find yourself wanting to give us additional kudos, feel free to leave a comment of an icon or emoji of a heart** <3


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